


But Still He Lives

by stoven (orphan_account)



Series: FFXV Hurt/Comfort Bingo [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, M/M, Pre-Slash, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 09:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15727086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stoven
Summary: The thought washes over him again as his eyes open, bleary, unfocused. He lets it settle inside of him. Some days he is not good at ignoring it.





	But Still He Lives

The thought comes suddenly now and then. It greets him now as he shifts into being awake (the concept of morning was lost long ago). Gladio has gotten better at ignoring it, usually he wakes up quickly enough not to think about it. Before the moon, before the night, before the dark lasting several long years. It presses into his skull, always with him, simmering in his brain, in his blood.

The thought washes over him again as his eyes open, bleary, unfocused. He lets it settle inside of him. Some days he is not good at ignoring it.

 _You’re alive._ He thinks, now. _Why should you get to live when the king is dead._

Before the night, the tune was, _it should have been you._

Eventually, he gets out of bed. Eventually, he goes outside, to the dark. The havens of Lucis remain lit, keeping the daemons at bay, regardless of their slow increase in numbers over the years. In a way Gladio has gotten what he wanted; he sleeps in their old tent, uses their old camping equipment, lives off the land as much as he can (the land is dark, the ecosystem changing, but he does his best). He had dreamed of a life like that before the chosen king’s ascension.

Now it is a bitter, guilt-ridden thing he tries to ignore thinking about. He was supposed to give his life to protect the king, but now Noct is gone with the crystal, but still Gladio lives.

He does not travel to the towns often, where Iggy and Prompto build something like a life for themselves. He can’t stop Ignis from fighting, and he can’t stop Prompto from documenting (they are both going to get themselves killed if they aren’t careful). Out here, by himself, he thins out the daemons. He works to route power to Lestallum. He has to pull his weight, pull enough so that no one else will die (the daemons are relentless, and someone always dies).

But still Glado lives.

Most days he lies to himself, tells himself he isn’t being more reckless than necessary. The guilt leads to intrusive thoughts. What if he died right here, today, fighting this very monster. Would there be enough of him left to bury. They’d have his tag, but would there be enough left of him to grieve.

How long before Ignis and Prompto even knew that he was dead.

But still Gladio lives.

Dawn and dusk no longer exist, but Gladio fills the space of 12 hours where day might exist between them. He trains. He pushes his body to its limit. He does squats until his thighs burn. Crunches until his abs are sore. Push ups until his arms ache. When his body is tender with exertion, he runs. The Armiger still functions, thank the Six, so he’s not unarmed when he leaves the haven at a jog. He’s sweaty, and he can feel his muscles complaining but he pushes onward.

He never goes far from his equipment, but far enough to scout the area. The daemons that emerge from the shadows, from the ground spurting liquid and bile, he destroys with the swing of his greatsword. Any given area is never clear of daemons, they materialize from a seemingly never ending source, but maybe the more of them he can get rid of the safer it will be for other survivors.

The flash that catches his eye is gone so fast he can barely catch where it came from. He’s barely reached the perimeter that he’s marked some months prior, and there’s noise faintly beyond it. It's not like he has to return before nightfall, so he ventures beyond his markers, and sees the flash again in the distance, so he stops. Over the grassy hills of duscae, there is movement, more flashing, but its dark and hard to see this distance. Gladio is not completely ignorant, there’s a fight going on. It takes him another ten minutes to travel that distance, but when he does, he cuts through daemons one by one alongside these survivors. It’s too dark to see their faces, but he knows the sound when they move, disappear into nothing and reappear yards away. Surviving Kingsglaive.

He doesn’t say anything to them, nods his head to the small squad of them, and just when he turns to go there’s a flash from near behind him. But Gladio doesn’t startle, he knows the source.

“Hey, Big Guy!” Prompto jogs up to him with his camera in hand. Daylight no longer exists but Gladio cannot look directly at the sun. “What a sight for sore eyes!” He laughs and slaps Gladio’s arm playfully, and the shield tries his best to suppress the tiny smile the action coaxes out of him. It doesn’t quite work as the edges of his lips turn up so slightly.

“Been a while, Blondie.” Gladio offers in response. He wonders how long its been this time. Months, or has a year yet passed since he’s last seen Prompto, or Iggy for that matter. But the advisor doesn’t appear to be around. Just the photographer for the stray Glaives working for Monica. “Bit far from Lestallum aren’t ya.”

“Yeah, kinda.” Prompto kicks his boot against the damp grass and ducks his head, “Long car ride over here. Dangerous, coming out this far.” When Gladio doesn’t respond he lifts his eyes again and grins big. Gladio knows it’s a cover. “But hey! Someone’s gotta come out here and document this stuff for the King’s return!”

Still Gladio is silent. He doesn’t want to talk about Noct, and he doesn’t want to think about old memories which is what Prompto will inevitably bring up. He wants his head busy and occupied from the time he wakes up to the time he crashes from exhaustion.

“S’good to see ya, Prom.” He says instead of any of what he’s thinking. It is good to see Prompto, but he doesn’t know if he can handle him. Prompto carries a lot of emotions with him wherever he goes, and Gladio doesn’t think he can do that right now. Caught off guard.

“Yeah, you too. Uh, me and Iggy, we miss you, you know?” Prom breathes in deep, releases it. “Maybe we could, I dunno, talk?” There it is. Gladio doesn’t want to _talk_ , but he doesn't exactly want to turn Prompto away either.

“The Glaives gonna be okay without you?” Gladio holds back his smirk, looking over to where they all were piling into a truck in the distance, near the main road.

“Very funny, c’mon your camp isn’t far, right?” Prom takes a minute to wave to them goodbye, so they know to leave without him possibly, and sure enough the truck groans to life and goes on its way.

“It’s pretty far.”

“Oh, well.” Prompto grins, “I could use the exercise, anyway.”

\---

Gladio is used to the size of the tent he spends his life in now. The tent he used to share with three other men. He can tell it looks too small for Prompto, now. He sits down roughly against his bedroll. Prompto crouches awkwardly, before finally resting his body on the thin layer of the tent.

“Oh man, not sure if I miss sleeping on this every night.” Prompto laughs. “Hurt your back sleeping on the ground for so long, yaknow?”

“Only if you sleep the wrong way.” Gladio drawls.

“Could shack up in Lestallum with me an’ Iggy?”

Gladio grunts in response.

“There we go, I was waiting for the grunting to start.”

He turns his head, glances at Prompto on the other side of the tent, no direct eye contact. Turns back. He wonders when he turned into such a coward.

“It’s quiet.” Prompto says.

“You never liked the quiet.” Gladio says back, sure as anything. 

“Nah, it’s alright.”

Gladio snorts, “Are you kiddin’? You woulda talked yourself hoarse just to fill silence.”

The silence goes on, long enough for Gladio to look at Prompto again. He lies on his side, eyes closed, brows drawn together in thought. Stubborn. Gladio missed it.

“Wouldn’t think you’d give up so easy.” Gladio says.

“Well, we both know Noct was the only one who could really go head-to-head with you.”

Gladio doesn’t want to talk about Noct. “Well, he was the King.” He says.

“Is.” Prompto says easily. It doesn’t even sound like a word to Gladio at first, but there must be confusion in his expression. Prompto clarifies, “Noct _is_ the King.”

Gladio stares at him, although it must be more of a glare. He says, “Noctis is dead.” Just a state of fact. Nothing more, nothing less. But Prompto sighs so heavy Gladio can feel it on the other side of the tent. The expanding and contracting of his whole body around the breath.

“Let’s not argue about this. Like I said, only Noct could ever knock any sense into you.” 

“Why come out here, then? Why bother?”

“Well, it’s worth a shot,” Prom sighs, “Plus, someone’s gotta make sure you’re still alive.”

 _Still alive_. The two words settle in Gladio’s gut, he doesn’t like it.

“Still alive, huh.”

“Yeah, and, well… you know. I might’ve missed you a little.” 

Gladio looks over at Prompto at that, and finds the blonde looking right back at him. His eyes dark violet, his face soft and clear of freckles without the sun for them to flourish. There’s hair around his jawline but most strongly on his chin, and his lips pulled in a straight line. Nervous, anxious. 

“You gonna stay the night?” Gladio asks, habitual vocabulary still in his system.

Prompto just laughs, but there’s a nervous tilt to it, “That’d be a very long sleepover.”

“Guess you’re right, but I’m exhausted.” He doesn’t yawn, just tosses his bedroll at Prompto before rolling over and closing his eyes.

“Mind if I set an alarm on my phone?” Prom asks, already fiddling with it.

The thought of Prompto’s alarm being earlier than Gladio’s internal clock makes him laugh, just a huff of amusement. “Knock yourself out.” He says. His eyes are closed and he’s facing the wall of the tent opposite Prompto. With just the two of them, it seems so much bigger than he’s used to, back when there were four of them.

Predictably, Gladio wakes before Prompto’s alarm. He lies with his eyes closed for a moment, letting the intrusive thoughts in. _Why do you get to live when the king is dead._ He lets them fill his head, swirling for a long time. Eventually, he opens his eyes. Eventually, he gets up. At that moment, Prompto’s alarm goes off.

Prompto stretches, his whole body long. His hair tousled, his lips pursed and kissable.

“It’s about time,” Gladio grumbles. “Get up.”

“Man, I knew you an’ Iggy were early risers, but this is unreal.” Prompto yawns. “How long have you been up?”

“Doesn’t matter. Get up.” 

Gladio exits the tent.

“So, Big Guy. What’s on the agenda?”

He does squats until his thighs burn.

“This is what you do all day, huh?”

Crunches until his abs are sore. 

“Pictures of your workout are actually pretty interesting.”

Push ups until his arms ache. 

“Hey, Gladdy, is this like a regular thing for you?”

When his body is tender with exertion, he runs.

“You should really take it easy, you know? This is… a lot.”

He checks his perimeter, kills every daemon there and back. Prompto with him every step of the way. He’s not used to the running commentary of Prompto’s banter. He has missed it. 

At the end of 12 hours, they go back to the tent.

“Whew! What a work out, huh, buddy?” Prompto is out of breath, sweaty, but laughing as he flops into the tent. “You really do that all day? Weed out the herd?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, thanks bud! Really helpin’ us out.”

Gladio sits, heavily, ready to crash. But he looks at Prom, stays awake, listens to the blond talk. Fill the silence, until he yawns wide, keeps talking. Until he starts to nod off, half covered by Gladio’s bedroll, eyelids drooping. He falls asleep mid sentence. Gladio stays awake.

Sometime, in the middle of sleeping, Prompto moves. He seeks out the warmth of Gladio’s body. Gladio knows he radiates heat like a furnace, and the blonde is like a popsicle even under Gladio’s blankets. Tired, deprived of sleep, he wraps his arms around Prompto and settles the both of them better under the blankets.

Prompto shifts, and laughs so softly, “Mmmm, better than central heating.”

“You’re awake.” Gladio is on the verge of sleeping, now. He has lied awake too long, and his eyelids are beginning to droop. It’s been a very long time since he’s slept among another person.

“Yeah, just a little. Hard to stay asleep with your big ol’ arms movin’ me around.”

“You looked cold.” Is all Gladio can say in reply, his words muffled by the fluff of Prom’s hair. 

“I feel cold, too. Imagine that.” Prom’s own words are spoken into Gladio’s chest, through his sleep shirt, and he can feel each puff of Prompto’s light breathing. “Not anymore though. Like I said, no better heater than Gladio, just like the good old days.” 

Gladio grunts in response. Sleepy, ready to pass out, comfortable around Prompto. More comfortable than he ought to be. 

“Sounds like someone’s ready for sleep. Don’t know what you were doin’ up anyway, Big Guy. Thought you had a rigorous schedule or somethin’.”

It takes a long time for Gladio to respond, he almost nods off before he can speak his mind. “Just… thinking. Sometimes, my head isn’t quiet enough to let me sleep when I want to.”

“Amen to that.” Prompto laughs, then breathes in so deep; lets it out slow. Again, the stretch of silence is almost long enough for Gladio to sleep. “What does the head of the Crownsguard think about so much he can’t sleep, anyway.” 

It’s not even a question really. A throwaway comment, Gladio knows that. Still, he replies, “Being alive.”

Another laugh huffs out of Prom, straight across his collarbones. Such a small thing could sound so wonderful. “Sounds too existential, even for me.”

“I don’t…” Gladio turns his head, against the rough material of the tent tarp, closes his eyes tight against this feeling. He should finished, explain. He should say, ‘I don’t want to talk about this’. He should say, ‘I don’t think you would understand’.

He shouldn’t say, “I don’t deserve to be alive,” but he does. It’s the sleep deprivation, mostly. But Prompto just has one of those personalities that makes you want to bare your soul. Gladio’s always liked that the least about him, if only for this reason. As soon as the words are out of his mouth he lets go of the breath in his lungs, held there. “Shit.”

Prompto slowly, slowly, starts to sit up. Gladio can feel the weight of his gaze. Doesn’t return it, doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to face this or deal with this, especially now.

“Um, what?” Prompto says, extremely intelligently. 

“What good,” Gladio grits through his teeth, eyes cinched shut, “is a shield without a King to protect.”

“Oh, Six, Gladio…” Prompto’s voice is so quiet, his breath so soft. Gladio cannot bear to look at his expression. “Gladio. Hey, Big Guy.” Prompto’s hand is patting his arm, his side, his chest. “Gladio.”

Gladio grunts; he is listening.

Prompto’s hand finds his neck, his fingers slim but calloused, brush the scruff of his chin and slide up his jawline. The scrape of skin against the stubble of his beard is loud, and grounding.

“You are more than just the King’s Shield, Gladio. You are a man, an individual. You deserve your own life.” Prompto speaks so softly, almost a whisper. Like he’s afraid talking at a normal volume will break the spell of whatever this is right now. Hell, maybe it would. “You’re allowed to live for yourself, Gladdy.”

Twenty-some years he grew up being told that wasn’t true. He doesn’t know if he can believe this now.

“Whether or not you can accept that, I know Noct couldn’t be more proud of you. Yeah, he’s the King, but he’s also your friend Gladio. Things might have been rough, at the end there…” Prompto’s voice has turned thick, and wet, and Gladio finally opens his eyes and glances at Prom. His eyes adjust, and around Prompto’s eyes are red and wet, his lip trembles. “But Noct,” Prompto almost gasps pulling in breath, trying not to cry, “and Iggy and me, we love Gladio Amicitia. Our friend.” He laughs, wet and choked, “more than we ever could the King’s Shield.”

Gladio lifts his own hand, places his thumb on Prompto’s quivering bottom lip. “Thanks Prom. Don’t cry over me, okay? Lie down, get some rest. We’ll go back to Lestallum tomorrow, yeah?”

Sniffle, a breath; Prompto settling down on his elbows and then wriggles onto his side, letting Gladio’s arms curl around him again. He thinks maybe Prompto has nodded off again, but the blond shifts, presses a kiss to the nearest bit of Gladio he can reach, the shoulder. His breath slows into sleep. Gladio eyes shut, and falls himself to the soft thud of Prom’s heartbeat. 

When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sound of Prompto’s alarm. He’s still holding the blond in his arms, their cover kicked off nearly all the way. He looks down at the mop of blond hair beneath his chin, presses a kiss to it.

“Prom, your phone.” Gladio says in a quiet sort of rumble.

“Nngh.” Whines Prompto. It makes Gladio chuckle, and sit up, taking Prom with him as he goes.

“Time to go home, Blondie.” 

As they shuffle around, and Gladio packs up his equipment, his thoughts mostly stray to Prompto’s presence. The tilt of his head, the length of his back, the slope of his legs in motion as they gather Gladio’s camp together. It goes into the armiger.

Gladio does not start his workout routine, or check his perimeter. He doesn’t think about the value of his life. He talks with Prompto, about all kinds of things; stories from the last few years each of them has missed from each other. They take the road, although cars no longer travel on it like they used to, the street lamps stay lit thanks to the power routes of Lestallum.

Not a daemon bothers them, physical or metaphorical, the whole walk home.

And they live.


End file.
